


It was domestic development

by lemonypond



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Gen, Humor, Season/Series 01, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1386160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonypond/pseuds/lemonypond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wonderful prompt from a wonderful person.</p><p>"domestic team being domestic. cooking dinner maybe?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was domestic development

**Author's Note:**

> As I started to write this it started to feel like a scene from perhaps the greatest comedy to ever grace a tv screen, hence the title. That's also where the use of [redacted] came from- things are always funnier when they are bleeped out.

“Never. Again,” Coulson says, firmly, quietly; a hint of a green sauce dripping down his cheek. 

The vein in Coulson’s forehead is now throbbing.  Simmons is apologetically scrubbing pesto off the floor and walls. She attempts to wipe it from Coulson’s face, but the side glare she gets tells her to just focus on the wall. Fitz is scrambling for the first aid kit. Skye is casually picking up broken glass, glancing upwards, her bleeding hand wrapped in a paper towel. Ward is trying to stand up and take off his shirt because it’s soaked with boiling water, the noodles sliding down his arms and chest; he’s cursing as the burns start to form on his washboard abs. May is walking away towards the bar, muttering something about ‘not worth it’ and ‘more scotch’. 

It’s the first, and possibly last time they attempt to cook a “family dinner” together.

* * *

 

Three hours earlier, Skye walked into Agent Coulson’s office, a jaunty spring in her step. They had just finished a successful mission in [redacted].  No one was shot, infected, or possessed by an Asgardian artifact, so she was feeling pretty good. “So A.C., what have you always said is the most important thing’?” 

Coulson looked up from his desk, where he was looking over the report Ward had written up over [redacted]. “What’s what now?” 

“Well since you asked, I was thinking maybe we get the team together and cook dinner tonight. Together. All of us. Laughing and cooking. Making non dangerous memories. _Together_ …” Skye’s eyes were wide and hopeful, though she would deny it if anyone asked. Living in a van she had never exactly had the luxury of things like stoves and other people. 

Coulson took his reading glasses off and pinched his nose between his fingers. He looked at Skye, subconsciously bouncing on her heels, eyebrow arched. He’d read the report; he knew she’d never had a family, that she’d lived in a van, that her meals consisted of corn chips and whatever she could heat on a camping hot plate she’d found at Goodwill. “If you can convince the others. What’d you have in mind? We don’t exactly have a full kitchen.” 

Skye tried not to squeal like teenage girl, but the sound left her mouth anyway. “Don’t you worry about that, just be in the kitchen in three hours!” she said with a wink as she scurried out of his office. 

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” 

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t do non dangerous?” Melinda May said, stepping out of the shadow. 

Coulson jumped in his seat.  “May. That is NOT COOL. How long have you been there?  I thought you were flying this plane.” 

“Not long. Autopilot,” she said, then promptly left to return to the cockpit. 

Coulson straightened his tie and watched as she left the room. “Only I get to do that,” he muttered under his breath.

* * *

 

 

Skye pleaded her case down in the lab next. She was sure FitzSimmons would be easy to persuade. 

“Yeah okay, I can make my pesto-“ 

“-and I can make…” Fitz hesitated. 

“Fitz, you can’t make anything other than beans on toast,” Jemma chided him. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish; she was right. He frowned as she bumped his shoulder teasingly. You can boil the noodles.  I’ll be right beside you, you won’t mess it up like that time in-“ 

Fitz’s face suddenly turned a marvelous shade of crimson. ‘That’s quite enough there Simmons; I think Skye gets the idea that I cannot cook. No need to go into details,” he laughed nervously, putting his arm around her shoulder, hugging her awkwardly. Simmons burst into a fit of giggles. 

Skye looked between the two of them and opened her mouth to say something, but realizing nothing good would come out, she just smiled uncomfortably. “Great…well what can I do?” 

“Isn’t this your idea?” Simmons asked. 

Skye laughed. “Hah. Yeah. Yeah it is. But you see the thing is, living in a van I didn’t exactly get much opportunity to learn the culinary arts. Was thinking…maybe you could teach me?” she gave Simmons her best puppy dog face. Simmons sighed deeply and agreed. 

“You can sauté some vegetables, I suppose. I’ll show you how,’ Simmons said skeptically. Fitz opened his mouth to say something, but Simmons turned her head sharply and cocked her head to the side, which in FitzSimmons code was ‘shut up we’re not discussing this right now.’ He shut his mouth and nodded, lips pursed tightly into a smile, hands on his hips. 

Skye was pleased. Her plan of team togetherness was coming along easier than she hoped. Simmons said to meet her and Fitz up in the kitchen in forty five minutes. They got back to work on their latest project. She could hear them start to reminisce about something, but she didn’t have time to eavesdrop. 

* * *

 

“FitzSimmons and I are making dinner later, we were hoping you’d come up and help?” 

Ward was drenched in sweat as he stopped mid pull-up. His arm muscles rippled and sleeves slid up. He turned his head and looked down at Skye. She had a hopeful look on her face. He leapt down from the bar and grabbed a towel. She had told him about her past. He knew this was her reaching out to try and bond as a makeshift family. He also knew what his own family had been like. He spent most of his life trying to _forget_ what his family had been like. This team was forcing him to be less of a lone wolf, whether he liked it or not. He grinned. 

“Yeah, okay. I’m in,” he said, toweling his hair. “I’m actually a pretty decent cook.” 

“Is that so?” Skye asked, a small smile forming in the corners of her mouth. “Well aren’t you just full of surprises.” 

“Went undercover in [redacted] as a _chef-de-partie._ Had to go to culinary school to prep for it.” 

“Well Simmons is making her pesto, Fitz is cooking the noodles, and she’s putting me in charge of sautéing vegetables.”

“We have some chicken in the fridge I’ve been thawing, I can cook and chop that.” 

The smile on Skye’s face broadened. This was going better than she’d hoped. He didn’t even put up a fight. “See you upstairs in thirty?” she asked. 

He agreed, and went upstairs to take a shower. Skye took a moment to picture that in her head, then went to the cockpit.

* * *

 

“The rest of us are cooking dinner together, we were hoping you’d like to join us?” 

Melinda May was sitting in the pilot’s chair, staring out into the horizon. Skye could not detect any hint of emotion on her face behind her aviator sunglasses. This was going to be more of a challenge. 

“What are you cooking?” May asked, not deviating her gaze. 

Skye blinked. She expected a flat out no.  “Pesto chicken and sautéed vegetables.” 

“Sounds like you’ve got it all under control. You don’t need me.” 

“Wha-I- we- need…you…” Skye stammered. 

“It’s a small kitchen. How about I play bartender?” 

“That…,” Skye paused, “is a really good idea,” Skye nodded. “We’re going to get started in just about half an hour.” 

“We’re flying over the [redacted], I’ll put the Bus on autopilot,” May said, finally turning to look at Skye. If Skye looked closely, she could see the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Not wanting to ruin the moment, Skye quickly left. 

“It’s a shame we can’t order take out over the [redacted]. 

 

* * *

 

 

FitzSimmons was already in the kitchen, quietly discussing something shoulder to shoulder over the tiny counter. Simmons was wearing a cheesy ‘kiss the cook’ apron and holding a mortar and pestle, grinding away at the pesto ingredients she’d already mixed together. Fitz was wearing an even cheesier ‘she’s the cook’ apron while trying to quickly clear the counter so that they had more room. It looked more handmade than the one Simmons was wearing. Skye inhaled sharply to avoid bursting into a fit of laughter. There had to be a story there and she hoped she got to hear it tonight. 

“Oh good you’re here,” Simmons said brightly. There are vegetables in the crisper, go rinse and chop them.” 

“Right.” 

“And then once you do that, grab the olive oil and put the burner on _LOW,”_ Simmons continued, mixing the pesto in the mortar as she moved away from the fridge.  With three people already in the kitchen, it was already quite cramped. 

“Burner on low, got it.” Skye and Simmons exchanged smiles and Skye got to work, digging in the fridge. Simmons moved to the other side of Fitz, who was stirring a pot of noodles. Simmons watched over his shoulder carefully, guiding him micro step by micro step. Skye glanced over at them. The last time Skye saw Fitz look this serious they were getting shot at in [redacted] and Simmons was [redacted]. They spoke in very hushed tones, so Skye could only hear bits and pieces of the micro managed conversation. She grabbed a knife from the drawer. Simmons nudged Fitz’s shoulder and looked over to Skye. 

“Cutting board is in the drawer under that,” Simmons said, reaching to point over Fitz’s shoulder. 

Skye rummaged around in the drawer until she found it. As she searched she could hear them get back to their hushed conversation. “And what does my apron say?” Simmons whispered in a cheeky tone. She could hear Fitz faintly huff in resignation. He muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t decipher, and Skye turned her head slightly just in time to see Fitz roll his eyes and plant a chaste kiss on Simmons cheek. Simmons had a proud, amused look on her face. 

Skye’s jaw dropped. This just got interesting, she thought to herself. 

“This isn’t fair.” 

“I’m not the one who gave everyone food poisoning at the Hub spring picnic last year,” she whispered. “And besides, you’re the one who thought it was hilarious when you bought me this for my birthday.” 

“I was drunk, Simmons, and so were you,” he whispered back, angrily. “How was I supposed to know you’d make this one for me.” 

Skye did her best to chop up the greenery in front of her. Simmons was supposed to be helping her, but she didn’t want to miss out on this conversation.  She casually tossed some chopped peppers in the glass bowl Simmons had set out earlier. 

“Same way I know you[redacted ],” she quipped back. His face fell. 

“Dammit Jemma, I was only joking!” he hissed. 

Skye almost chopped her finger clean off her hand. A few choice expletives left her mouth. That brought FitzSimmons out of their conversation with a start. 

“Oh Skye! Did you cut yourself?” Jemma asked, walking around Fitz. 

“No! No….just almost.” Skye said, checking to make sure her fingernail was still attached.

“Well, you should hold it like this,” Jemma reached over and corrected her with her free hand, reaching awkwardly over Fitz. 

“Ah well that makes more sense.” 

As Simmons backed away, Ward showed up around the corner, freshly showered. He reached into the fridge looking for the chicken. Since Grant Ward was a giant compared to the other occupants of the kitchen, his added size made moving in the kitchen almost impossible. He found the chicken, thankfully thawed, and stood up a little too quickly, knocking into Skye, who immediately sliced open her finger and screamed, knocking the glass bowl and all of its contents shattering to the floor. She ignored her bleeding finger and bent down to clean up the mess. Simmons immediately reached over Fitz to check if Skye was okay, but the cramped space knocked Fitz closer to the stove, burning his arm and Simmons’ elbow knocked the near boiling pot of noodles off the stove and onto Ward, who was trying to back away so Simmons could tend to Skye’s finger. Ward tumbled backwards, falling over Skye, cursing and dropping the chicken. He frantically tried to get the scalding wet clothes off his person. At this point everyone was shouting and tripping over everything. Fitz turned around to look for the first aid kit, but his elbow knocked the pesto flying from Simmons’ arm-directly onto the face of Agent Coulson, who had just walked in with Agent May for dinner. 

“Never. Again,” Coulson says, firmly, quietly; a hint of a green sauce dripping down his cheek. 

The vein in his forehead began to throb, but he had to admit, this rag tag bunch of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents was definitely his family. And Skye definitely had gotten her wish; she made some memories that night.


End file.
